


this is the end.

by toadpot



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Death, Mourning, Other, Post-Book: The Last Battle (Narnia), SUSAN IS THE BEST, Siblings, The Problem of Susan, hate that tag, this is shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26475340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toadpot/pseuds/toadpot
Summary: If Aslan wouldn't take her, she'd get there herself.
Relationships: Edmund Pevensie & Lucy Pevensie & Peter Pevensie & Susan Pevensie
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	this is the end.

Susan stood at the front of the funeral service, lips a dark red, eyes swollen red, dressed in a black dress that had belonged to her great-great grandmother, a floor length mourning dress that she had worn at the funeral of each of her own siblings deaths.

"Susan-" a voice began, perhaps one of Peter's friends, his outstretched hand stopped centimeters away from her shoulder that was covered by the black mourning veil she wore.

He didn't say anything more.

The silence in the Pevensie house seemed deafening as she trudged through the rooms, hoping that she'd find her siblings hidden behind a door.

Two weeks had passed, and Susan had yet to remove her veil, it was always on her when she left, the weight of it feeling like the embrace of her siblings, the brief touch of her mother's soft hand and the warmth look of her father.

"How are you coping?" Aunt Alberta had called and asked, worried for the young girl who had moved out of her London apartment back into her childhood home.

"With what?" Susan questioned, hand curling and uncurling around the telephone wire.

"With their deaths," Aunt Alberta reiterated, confused.

"Deaths?" Susan questioned back, eyes dropping, shoulders slumping, "as best as I can."

A month later, Susan had taken to sell her parents clothes, she knew that the outfits were in great shape, and if sold it would help her buy her groceries.

Susan's friend had called as she was finishing through the clothes boxes, "Have you eaten?" 

"We-" Susan began, before heaving, "I'm going to go grocery shopping."

It was the dead of a moonless night, and Susan had made her way into the attic her siblings had retired to when they longed to leave to a world they had left.

The glow of the single candlelight seemed to speak to her through flickers and movements.

"It's been so long," Susan whispered, terrified someone would hear her, "I want nothing more than to be with them."

Susan was no longer 20, but a striking 26, still as lonely as she had felt all those years ago.

It had been a long time since she had felt something other than the overwhelming grief, so long since she had felt the true warmth of the sun.

Susan hadn't physically died all those years ago, but it felt like it.

She had heard stories of widows dying to grief, and she thinks she understands what they felt like. To be abandoned in a cruel world without the light people had brought into their lives.

Susan no longer felt beautiful, she had permanent tear tracks tattooed into her cheeks each day she left to work at the bookstore, her smile drooped, and her eyes seemed distant. She no longer cared what people thought of her, and would often times heave herself out of bed, and leave without brushing her hair.

Edmund had always taken to brushing her hair during their time in Narnia, her long, mostly floor-length hair, and then he'd softly braid it, hands skillfully twisting and turning as the two spoke about anything and everything.

Her hair ended by her jawline now, short, and mostly pulled up into a half up. She had wild stray hairs that rested by her ears, if Edmund had braided it, they would not be there.

Her colleagues had asked if she'd like to spend Christmas with them one year, Susan shook her head.

"My siblings are waiting for me.”

Susan took the last train that would lead her to the Professor's house, his nephew had said he wouldn't be there to invite her in, but the key to the mansion would be left for her underneath the door mat.

She walked up the large staircase and stopped by the statue, sighing at the fleeting memories. 

Soon she'd found herself in the room that had started all of this, and it was like she was still 12, for nothing had changed.

Only this time, she was alone.

Her shaky hand pressed against the carved wood of the wardrobe, before pulling it open and releasing a breath at the sight of the fur coats that welcomed her. She stepped inside, and shut the door behind her, not caring at the click of the latchet locking her in.

She moved slowly, hands brushing against the coats as she walked forwards.

"Please," she whispered, tears pricking her eyes, " _please_."

She bit back a yell as she bumped into the side of the wardrobe, feeling as if it tilted on her. But still, she continued forwards, muttering words of prayer as she paced forwards, hands pressing harshly against the wood.

She felt her foot collide with something that didn't feel like wood, and when she opened her eyes. Susan had seen fire, she'd seen war, she'd seen life at its fullest and death at its worst. But there was nothing that could prepare her for the overwhelming emotions as she saw the snow.

A sob ripped out her throat.

=


End file.
